


modern problems require modern solutions

by attheborder



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Good Omens: Lockdown, M/M, Pining, We Have The Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/pseuds/attheborder
Summary: “No, hold on,” he said, “you don’t even own an iPhone. Or a cell phone at all. Or awebcam,so how are you doing this?”“I don’t know about any of that,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve just seen people on the street, you know, video chatting away, so I sat down at my computer and told it to get you on the line, and that I wanted to see your face, and, here we are!”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 455
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	modern problems require modern solutions

**Author's Note:**

> inspired, of course, by the [Good Omens: Lockdown video.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quSXoj8Kob0) WHAT A DAY, Y'ALL

The two-day deadline he’d set for himself was nearly up, and Aziraphale hadn’t called again.

It wasn’t like he’d been obsessively checking the time or anything, cross referencing it to the exact hour that Aziraphale had dialed him what seemed like years ago. He was just— staying _aware._ Keeping his phone on him at all times. In the atrium, misting the plants; in the office, rearranging his precious keepsakes; sprawled out in front of the television, clicking through channels and retaining absolutely nothing.

He knew what it was about. In a time of crisis, nothing comforted Aziraphale more than learning the rules and abiding strictly by them. If he tried to force his way in, tempt and cajole and convince, it would all collapse like one of the angel’s awful magic tricks, complete with all the full-body embarrassment that implied.

No, there would be no _slithering over._ Aziraphale was having fun by himself. An unbelievable amount of fun, by the sound of it. This was paradise for introverts like the angel; what right did Crowley have to saunter in and bring it all crashing down? 

He had a tendency to do that with paradises, historically speaking.

Fuck, two days. Why the hell had he given himself two whole days? He shouldn’t have even bothered. It was hopeless, clearly.

Three hours to go, now. The angel might well be dithering and pacing and fretting a mile away in his cozy, closed, bookshop, but Crowley knew it wouldn’t make a difference in the end. Crowley might as well go to sleep now, get it over with, fast-forward to August when the whole thing was over— when Aziraphale said he’d see him again. He _had_ said that, right? It hadn’t just been Crowley’s brain, proffering up a hopeful hallucination in a time of great need.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley was clothed in a slinky black silk dressing gown with red piping, open in a deep V at the chest and trailing elegantly on the floor.

His bed was calling. He could practically feel the deep luxury of his enormously expensive mattress and just-cheap-enough sheets[1] already sending goosebumps of tactile pleasure up his limbs. Did the bookshop have these accommodations? No. Definitely no. Decidedly no. Positively no. So it was a good thing, then, that Aziraphale hadn’t called. Absolutely a good thing.

As he walked to the bed, Crowley caught a glimpse of himself in his gilt-framed full-length mirror. Damn, he looked good. He’d been growing his hair out for a few months now, and it fell to just above his shoulders now in perfect red waves. Combined with the black silk, the effect was pure glamour.

Pity the angel wasn’t around to see it. “Your loss,” Crowley muttered, as he pulled his phone out of his dressing gown pocket, and began to snap a series of truly daring mirror selfies. Leg out, leg in. Hips this way, hips that way. Angle, angle, different angle— yeah, that’s the stuff—

And then his phone lit up.

“What—?!”

It was Aziraphale calling. Except, no, he wasn’t _calling—_ it said— how could it say—

He pressed the answer button so hard he nearly cracked the phone screen. “Aziraphale, are you _FaceTiming_ me?”

“Oh, Crowley! I can _see you!”_

“Yes, that’s the blessed point.”

“But it’s wonderful! And you look— oh, good lord.”

Crowley was, against his better judgement, holding his phone far enough out so that Aziraphale could get a better view. He could see, in every HD pixel, the flush building on the angel’s cheeks as he took it all in. This was dangerous territory. 

“No, hold on,” he said, “you don’t even own an iPhone. Or a cell phone at all. Or a _webcam,_ so how are you doing this?”

“I don’t know about any of that,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve just seen people on the street, you know, video chatting away, so I sat down at my computer and told it to get you on the line, and that I wanted to see your face, and, here we are!” 

Crowley couldn’t rein in his grin at the thought of Aziraphale’s ancient, groaning desktop, being angelically commanded to sprout a webcam and an internet connection and an iOS operating system, purely in service of getting in touch with a demon over a one-mile distance. 

“You really went to all that trouble?” 

“Well, you were bored. You said so. And— oh, I really wouldn’t like to set a bad example by breaking the rules, but— if you slept for that long, I’d… I’d miss you.” 

“Nnh.” Crowley did not dare try to verbalize a response to that.

“And we are rather experts at these sorts of things, aren’t we? Loopholes, arrangements? I thought it would be such a pity if I didn’t even give it a try— for your sake. Is— is that all right?” Aziraphale said. His eyes were now wide with the beginnings of alarm, and it killed Crowley that he couldn’t physically reach out to soothe it all away. 

“It is. It really is. But hold on, gimme a mo, I’ll make it better—” Crowley left his bedroom and went out the living room, where he AirPlayed his phone to the television, blowing Aziraphale’s face up to majestic proportions, like a Chuck Close portrait or a Moai head. 

He propped his phone up below it, keeping the entire living room in frame, and retreated to the sofa, where he recreated the type of graceful limb-drape he so often engaged in at the bookshop. “Howzat, then?” 

“My goodness. It’s like you’re right here in the shop with me!” 

“It’s not,” said Crowley, “but it’ll do, angel. It’ll do just fine.” Very slowly, he lengthened his sprawl, letting a hand casually come up and slide the fabric of his dressing gown away, revealing one tanned thigh, the barest hint of a scallop-edged undergarment beneath.

“For now,” Aziraphale agreed. His eyes were so big on the screen, and getting bigger. He was looking, looking very intently indeed, at the movement of Crowley’s hand, and was that— oh, he most certainly just _licked his lips_. “Yes, for now— I think it will, my dear.” 

* * *

1. Because sometimes, things that are expensive are worse.↩

**Author's Note:**

> you can [reblog this on tumblr!](https://areyougonnabe.tumblr.com/post/616941583170945024/modern-problems-require-modern-solutions)
> 
> i'm also on [twitter,](http://twitter.com/areyougonnabe) crying about these idiots always

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [modern problems require modern solutions [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994721) by [aethel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aethel/pseuds/aethel)
  * [modern problems require modern solutions [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994994) by [gracicah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracicah/pseuds/gracicah)
  * [[Podfic] modern problems require modern solutions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048544) by [elaineofshalott (LadyofMisrule)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofMisrule/pseuds/elaineofshalott)




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